


The Devil Owns The Rest

by Hawkbringer



Series: Never Show Weakness, Never Undress [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 10 is really too young to have an existential crisis, Cognitive Dissonance, Contracts, Demon Summoning, Evil Cult, Extremely Underage, F/M, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Conflict, Religious Cults, Starvation, Trans Male Character, Underage Rape/Non-con, Wrongful Imprisonment, ciel has a vagina, ciel thinks he is a boy, squalor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkbringer/pseuds/Hawkbringer
Summary: The origin of Ciel's distaste for penises comes from his imprisonment and desecration at the hands of the cultists who kidnapped him. The Devil made his genitals, and the cultists want him because of it - then the Devil is to blame. And God is not answering any prayers. Why shouldn't the Devil come and protect His property?
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive
Series: Never Show Weakness, Never Undress [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673182
Kudos: 22





	1. The Cage

They grope at him, paw at him. The stink of their breath says as clearly as their words that they hunger for him. Hunger for that which is not theirs. 

/It is the Devil's,/ Ciel decides as he pulls his legs together and wraps his hands around his knees. The cage is small, but has not been opened; he can be touched but not smothered and the feel of fingers tracing down his thighs makes him shudder. 

Using a sentence or two he has heard the faceless leader say, Ciel keeps their hands and other extremities at bay for days on end, repeating to them over and over, "I must be kept pure for the ceremony." And that warning prevents them from touching him /there,/ but not anywhere else and by the second week there are ropes of semen encrusted in his hair. 

Just the sight of a naked, erect penis disgusts him now, and Ciel is grateful and utterly enraged by turns that he was not given one at birth. This would not be happening to him if he /had/ born with one, but then he would be chained to it and its disgusting whims for ever. 

There are other children in this place, Ciel sees them come and go. In rags like he, and not nearly so well-fed. Most are cleaner, though, despite their skeletal bodies. 

He never sees one die, but one comes close, and the little girl is removed before Ciel is forced to witness her last breath. He does not know if she lived. 

The younger children stay for far less time than the older ones, and Ciel manages to speak to one or two of the ones who stay for several days, a week. 

There is one, a girl, he determines by her long hair, that is several years older than he, but her eyes are just as full of hate as he feels his must be. 

His rags hide little, and hide even less/absolutely nothing when he is ordered to be bathed, as happens once or twice. The second time, the older girl is there to see it, and her eyes widen and she looks away as his undergarments come off and one of the cultists very gingerly and very lustfully swipes at his secret places, under the watchful eye of their leader. 

Shivering from the cold afterward and barely comforted by the towel they threw after him, Ciel is startled by the girl speaking. No child has ever spoken to him, though they talk amongst themselves. They are clearly of commoner stock. Ciel will not condescend to converse with lowlifes. That is what he tells himself to ease the hurt of loneliness.

"You're a girl." She says it with a rusty voice, hoarse from both screaming and disuse. It isn't a question but Ciel answers it anyway.

"No, I'm not!" And for some unfathomable reason, she /smiles/ at him.

"You don't have the...boy parts. You have girl parts." Then she ducks her head repentantly. "I'm sorry, I looked."

Ciel thins his lips in dissatisfaction but grudgingly admits there was no help for it.

"I'll show you," the girl decides suddenly, and rolls onto her back and rustles her skirts and undergarments and spreads her legs for him to see. He cannot stop himself, though he tries to. 

He looks.

He is dumbfounded. She has a cavern, a dark, vertical split between her legs, with two thick ridges to either side. For a moment, Ciel hysterically thinks that it looks like a mouth - that it could talk. 

Then her legs close, and she rustles her skirts and sits up normally again. Ciel is staring at everything and nothing and he cannot think at all.

"Joshua?" The girl calls out across the room after a moment of examining Ciel's face and pondering. "Will you show her your boy parts? She doesn't know what boy parts are."

"I do /not/--!" Ciel begins, but he doesn't have an end for that sentence and it doesn't matter anyway because the boy across the room shrugs, kneels up, for none of them can stand in their small cages, and pulls his pants down to mid-thigh. 

Despite the distance, Ciel can clearly see it - a smaller, thinner version of what the men in cloaks have - a tiny pointed prodder and a fleshy sac hanging beneath and behind it.

Ciel is staring again, and this time his mouth falls open slightly. This boy looks nothing at all like....like how /he/ feels. 'Joshua,' at the girl's command, pulls his pants back up with a snap around his hips and turns back to his neighbor and resumes conversing animatedly. 

"Touch yourself down there," the girl urges him. "You'll feel like I feel."

Ciel shudders, horrified by the idea of having a dark, yawning chasm between his legs like /she/ had.... but he is nearly burning with curiosity and puts one hand against his parts, while clothed. He pauses. He does not feel round balls or a pricker like the boy Joshua had... He feels nothing. Flat. He spreads his legs and presses deeper, but he can feel nothing but smooth, uninterrupted flesh. 

The girl giggles thinly beside him and he whips his head towards her, face burning. "Put your hand /under/ your pants. Really /feel/ it," she says. "You can't tell anything about what's really there without going under'er clothes!" 

Ciel retains this bit of wisdom unconsciously, remembering his father saying something similar - "a person can wear any disguise, but underneath all that, we are all very much the same." 

/The same..../ Ciel thinks, so very desperately worried now that perhaps he is not the same at all. So he does what she asks. He lies back, having to prop his head against the bars of the cage, and draws his knees up to his chin. Then he works one hand underneath his disgusting, wet, and un-soaped clothes, and for the first time ever, truly /feels/ himself.

There is a chasm. It is just like the girl's - two lips parted like a mouth on either side and their edges give, elastic, sinking into the space between them, but Ciel doesn't dare put his fingers there. 

Instead he yanks back his hand out of his pants and wrenches his arm around to wipe it off against the back of his shirt. His face is purple with embarrassment.

"...You're right," he mumbles to the older girl, who smiles, but not with joy. "I do have....girl parts."

"Did you really think you were a boy?" she asks, amazed.

"Yes!" Ciel exclaims, pulling his arms around himself, curled into a ball atop the towel. "I...I didn't... th-they told me..."

"Who?" the girl prompts without knowing what she asks of him.

The sound of sniffling comes from her neighbor's cage, but its occupant is facing away from her, so she cannot see if the other is really crying. "My...my parents."

That particular inflection tells the girl she has crossed a line. She backs down, doesn't push it. Each person in this prison-room had a reason for being there, after all. "I see," she replies simply and rolls over, not facing the girl...boy?...beside her. She tries to go to sleep.

Ciel doesn't manage to for another 24 hours, at least, until the older girl is gone. 

When he next wakes, not knowing that he'd even slept, there is fire again, behind his eyes.


	2. The Ceremony

The ceremony has come. 

As Ciel is bound and carried through halls with real windows, all he can see is the black-blue sky, dominated by the full and leering moon. /I am the stars/ he thinks to himself. /My light will not yield to the moon./ But of course, in the end, he is not given a choice.

Every person in the haze-filled room is wearing white robes and masks, obscuring their faces, and they are all chanting in low voices, in a register that makes Ciel's skin prickle. 

He is placed on top of a large altar like a sacrificial lamb, and his stomach twists when he realizes that's exactly what he is. They cut the ropes that bind him only to hold him down with their own hands. So many hands. It feels like dozens and Ciel can barely see through the smoke, can see only glittering eyes beneath shadowed hoods and there is one man chanting louder than the rest and Ciel's nose and mouth are burning from whatever is in the smoke, his thin chest heaving for breath. 

As the leader of the ceremony shouts louder and louder, words Ciel cannot make out, he gestures wildly to the corner of the room and someone approaches with a metal wand in hand. A design on one end is glowing. It looks like a wax-stamp, but huge and fire-hot. The bearer approaches, staring intently at Ciel's side. 

The hands holding him down begin to rip off his meager clothing and Ciel shouts for them to stop, but the man with the metal wand comes nearer and as the leader shouts one final word that sounds like 'Kissing,' the wand is at his side, is /touching/ his side, and yes, it is fire-hot, and do they mean to /burn/ him?!--

The hands upon him hold him down as the fire-hot brand imprints a symbol into his side and Ciel loses his voice for screaming.

\-----------

Blearily waking with his side still on fire, Ciel notes the presence of new shackles around his arms and legs. The hands are gone, but he still cannot move. His mouth is muffled by a gag and he tries to turn his head, but as he does so, a line of fire and pain slices across his wrist and he can only gasp in silence. 

It burns like a knife-cut and then hands touch him arm and wring it, grinding small bones together, squeezing blood from him that simply smears across the altar. They repeat this at his other wrist and his throat, where he begs loudly but incomprehensibly for a deep cut to kill him, but of course it is insultingly light. 

Blood drips steadily from his wrists onto the altar; the cut on his neck barely bleeds at all. A bare hand slides lovingly down his cheek and Ciel wishes his mouth was free so he could spit on it. 

"Oh Beloved and Honorable God," the leader, still standing a ways removed from the altar as if to distance himself from Ciel's state, begins, now speaking English, "We assembled here today do forthwith swear to honor Your presence in our lives by the dedication of this body and this pleasure to the service of Your Holy Word. Praise Him!" 

"Praise Him! Praise Him!" the assembled voices drone. Ciel shivers, utterly certain that 'body' and 'pleasure' were things this God /would/ want dedicated to Him, if He had wanted all the rest.

The rustle of robes makes Ciel open his eyes again, widened in horror as white cloaks are untied, opened to expose naked, hard-pricked male bodies that approach and approach and /approach/.

They touch him now, all over, fingers and mouths and weeping dicks and the shackles are moved to chain his legs open and his arms above his head. 

Someone removes Ciel's makeshift gag and immediately holds open his mouth with meaty hands and, a second later, forces a prick into it. 

Ciel can only grunt, screaming in his head as fear and revulsion and terror roll over him in waves and though he chokes, he does not drown. He cannot breathe yet he is not dead, and he won't be unless---

There is the heat of a warm body between his thighs. His head is being held still, so he cannot see, but the press of flesh against flesh is unmistakable and this time there are no bars to keep the white-cloaked monsters out and if even a single inch were to breach his private parts, he would lose everything to this God they praised. Everything. Even that which God did not make. Does have control of. Does not /own./

/This part of me is not God's. This part of me belongs to the Devil, and I will not let /Him/ have it!/


	3. The Contract

/Devil! I call you! Come to me NOW!/ Ciel screams out across the many planes of existence, /summoning/ with all his might. /Protect your territory!/ The call echoes across /miles/, across hundreds of /parsecs/ of space, and hundreds of demons hear it. 

The one who comes is not the nearest, but the fastest, and flies as swiftly as is possible because there was a /pull/ in the young boy's words. Something like a hook or a claw that reached out, caught, and /yanked/ at the tar-black soul inside. 

So the demon flew. Flew on wings not used in ages, ages and ages hence, not since before.... The demon tries not to think of it.

The demon arrives in a room full of writhing male bodies and white cloaks and candles and chanting and for a moment pulls up short. Is this the right...? But the gurgled scream of a pre-pubescent boy cuts through that momentary confusion, and the demon /sees./ 

Body black and menacing, the demon's presence sweeps past the crowd, faster than light, stopping time in its wake, and wraps sharp claws around the victim's throat. This /is/ the boy who called out so fiercely, bruised and bloody and, at the moment, being raped. There is no /doubt/ that this is him. 

With just a thought and a breath, the demon transports them to a silent plane where they can speak without interruptions, without words.

\---

/You have called me here, little one,/ a dark voice intones, and Ciel opens his eyes in the shuddering aftermath of all his pain being simply /removed/ from his being. It feels like the peeling of a bandage, stuck to the skin by dried-up blood, sharp and then throbbing at the lack of sensation.

/Yes, I did, and you're late,/ Ciel tells the dark voice before it could say anything more.

A sound like laughter reaches him. /Late? Late for what, exactly?/

/To protect your territory. They have...entered me./ Ciel's cheeks would burn with shame were his body here, but they are naught but voices here.

/Ahh,/ the demon admits. /Yes, I did see them...entering you. Repeatedly and rather enthusiastically, I might add./

/Shut up!/ Ciel growls, only making the demon chuckle again.

/My, my, what ferocity!/ The dark voice sparkles with laughter. /Who are you that you dare speak to a demon that way, child?/

/My name is Ciel Phantomhive, son of the Earl and Contessa Phantomhive. But they have died./ Ciel's voice pauses for a moment, but he cuts back in just as the demon is metaphorically opening its mouth to speak. /Therefore, I am the Earl of Phantomhive now./

/Well, my little earl,/ the demon fairly cooes at the child, /what do you wish from me? And what are you willing to give in return?/

/I wish for you to be my servant. You will do my bidding, at my orders, and mine alone. You will protect my life and health and body from any who wish it harm - including yourself. You will never lie to me. You will not follow orders from anyone but me, unless I approve it. You will be my eyes and ears and legs and arms. I wish to return ten-fold every ounce of humiliation, every ounce of fear, every last drop of pain I have experienced since my manor went up in flames, to every single one of the humans, no, the /beings/, responsible for it. In return for your service as my personal servant, butler, chef, housekeeper, and consultant, once every last being responsible has been punished to my satisfaction, you may take possession of my eternal soul./ 

Utterly stunned by the long and detailed and almost frighteningly-specific terms of the contract, the demon leans forward, on the mortal plane, and licks a fleck of blood from the child's sluggishly-bleeding neck. And freezes.

/I.....accept,/ the demon hisses, and then amends, /My little lord./

**Author's Note:**

> Written 25th jan 2013, or earlier. //s indicate italics. Barely edited since writing.


End file.
